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MARIA EDGEWORTH, JANE TAYLOR 
isliffi” ana MRS. BARBAULD 


Edited by Professor M. V. O'SHEA 




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“Oh! what an excellent motto!” exclaimed Ben. 


II 





WASTE NOT, WANT NOT 

AND OTHER STORIES 

BY 

MARIA EDGEWORTH, JANE TAYLOR 
AND MRS. BARBAULD 


EDITED WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 


By M. V. O’SHEA 

PROFESSOR OF EDUCATION IN THE UNIVERSITY 
OF WISCONSIN 


WITH THIR TY- TWO ILL USTRA TIONS 
BY W. P. BOD WELL 


J 5 

c ' « 

> > > 


BOSTON, U.S.A. 

D. C. HEATH & CO., PUBLISHERS 

I 9°4 



Copyright, iqoi, 

By D. C. Heath & Co. 

\oiS^ 

' 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 


Introduction vii 

WASTE NOT; WANT NOT I 

By Maria Edgeworth. 

THE DISCONTENTED PENDULUM ... 51 

By Jane Taylor. 


ORDER AND DISORDER 58 

By Mrs. Barbauld. 

THE PHILOSOPHER’S SCALES .... 73 

By Jane Taylor. 

Note 83 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

WASTE NOT, WANT NOT 

“Oh! what an excellent motto!” exclaimed Ben Frontispiece 


“Don’t cut it, Hal” ........ 4 

“She fell down a whole flight of stairs” ... 8 

“A game at her favorite cat’s-cradle ” . . . .10 

“I’ve only two-pence” . . . . . . .17 

“Threw a whole queen-cake to the dog” . . 19 

The Nave of Bristol Cathedral . . . . .21 

'‘Here are your gloves” 33 

“He dragged poor Hal . . . out of the red mud” . . 42 

“Drew from his pocket an excellent piece of whip-cord” 47 
“He drew his bow the third and last time” ... 49 

v 


VI 


List of Illustrations 


THE DISCONTENTED PENDULUM 

An old clock . . . suddenly stopped 
The dial instituted a formal inquiry 
“I am tired of ticking” ...... 

The pendulum began to swing again 
His watch had gained half an hour 

ORDER AND DISORDER 

“If she was at work . . . about on the floor” 

Juliet leaves to visit an old lady in the country 
“My mistress has sent you a piece of work to do” 
“Juliet laid down the needle and fell a-crying” 

“The threads separated and arranged themselves” . 
“Juliet finished the flower by dinner-time” 

“You must state separately the amount of every article” 
“Where am I to begin?”. ...... 

“You must exactly copy out this poem” . . . . 

THE PHILOSOPHER’S SCALES 

“The first thing he tried was the head of Voltaire” 
“Containing the prayer of the penitent thief” . 

“As to bound, like a ball, to the roof of the cell” . 
“Next time he put in Alexander the Great” . 

“A well-esteem’d pharisee” ...... 

“The whole world was bowl’d in” . 


PAGE 

51 

52 

53 

55 

56 


58 

60 

61 

63 

64 

65 

67 

68 
70 


72 

74 

75 

76 

77 

79 

80 


“It made a vast rent” 


INTRODUCTION 


Constant insisting on the importance of honesty, 
thrift, perseverance, consideration and order is apt to be- 
come wearisome and fail of its effect. And yet children 
are always attracted to persons who display these quali- 
ties, especially if they are strong, vigorous and attractive 
in other ways. One effective method of impressing 
their importance upon the mind of youth is in deftly 
weaving these attributes into stories of interesting, 
attractive boys and girls. The moral must creep in 
stealthily, as it were; it must not present itself in a 
domineering manner. Children are not able to digest 
highly concentrated moral pabulum ; it needs to be much 
diluted with the dramatic to be made assimilable, — it 
must be offered in the story form. In our teaching there 
must be nine parts of story and one of instruction, and 
then the kernel of moral truth will be assimilated with 
the rest. 

The stories in this volume have been selected in 
view of these principles. They severally aim to de- 
velop an appreciation of the value of thrift, frankness, 
genuineness, and many kindred virtues in all the affairs 
of daily life ; and they seek to accomplish this by present- 
ing to the young reader lively scenes wherein interesting 
people or objects are the actors. Each story makes use 
of some novel situation to impress its lesson, and in this 
way it is capable of entertaining while at the same time 
teaching in an effective manner. 

M. V. O’Shea. 

University of Wisconsin. 


vn 








WASTE NOT, WANT NOT: OR, TWO 
STRINGS TO YOUR BOW 

By Maria Edgeworth 

M R. GRESHAM, a Bristol merchant, who had, 
by honorable industry and economy, accu- 
mulated a considerable fortune, retired from busi- 
ness to a new house which he had built upon the 
Downs, near Clifton. Mr. Gresham, however, 
did not imagine that a new house alone could 
make him happy. He did not propose to live in 
idleness and extravagance; for such a life would 
have been equally incompatible with his habits 
and his principles. He was fond of children; and 
as he had no sons, he determined to adopt one 
of his relations. He had two nephews, and he in- 
vited both of them to his house, that he might 
have an opportunity of judging of their disposi- 
tions, and of the habits which they had acquired. 

Hal and Benjamin, Mr. Gresham’s nephews, 
were each about ten years old. They had been 
educated very differently. Hal was the son of 
the elder branch of the family. His father was 
a gentleman, who spent rather more than he could 
afford; and Hal, from the example of the servants 
in his father’s family, with whom he had passed 
the first years of his childhood, learned to waste 


2 


Waste Not, Want Not 


more of everything than he used. He had been 
told, that “gentlemen should be above being care- 
ful and saving”; and he had unfortunately im- 
bibed a notion that extravagance was the sign of 
a generous disposition, and economy of an avari- 
cious one. 

Benjamin, on the contrary, had been taught 
habits of care and foresight. His father had but 
a very small fortune, and was anxious that his 
son should early learn that economy insures inde- 
pendence, and sometimes puts it in the power of 
those who are not very rich to be very generous. 

The morning after these two boys arrived at 
their uncle’s, they were eager to see all the rooms 
in the house. Mr. Gresham accompanied them, 
and attended to their remarks and exclamations. 

“Oh! what an excellent motto!” exclaimed 
Ben, when he read the following words, which 
were written in large characters over the chim- 
ney-piece, in his uncle’s spacious kitchen : — 

“waste not, want not.” 

“Waste not, want not!” repeated his cousin 
Hal, in rather a contemptuous tone; “I think it 
looks stingy to servants; and no gentleman’s serv- 
ants, cooks especially, would like to have such a 
mean motto always staring them in the face.” 
Ben, who was not so conversant as his cousin in 
the ways of cooks and gentlemen’s servants, made 
no reply to these observations. 


Waste Not, Want Not 


3 


Mr. Gresham was called away whilst his neph- 
ews were looking at the other rooms in the house. 
Some time afterwards he heard their voices in the 
hall. 

“Boys,” said he, “what are you doing there?” 
“Nothing, sir,” said Hal; “you were called away 
from us, and we did not know which way to go.” 
“And have you nothing to do?” said Mr. Gres- 
ham. 

“No, sir, nothing,” answered Hal, in a careless 
tone, like one who was well content with the state 
of habitual idleness. 

“No, sir, nothing!” replied Ben, in a voice of 
lamentation. 

“Come,” said Mr. Gresham, “if you have noth- 
ing to do, lads, will you unpack these two parcels 
for me?” 

The two parcels were exactly alike, both of 
them well tied up with good whip-cord. Ben took 
his parcel to a table, and, after breaking off the 
sealing-wax, began carefully to examine the knot, 
and then to untie it. Hal stood still, exactly in the 
spot where the parcel was put into his hands, and 
tried first at one corner, and then at another, to 
pull the string off by force. 

“I wish these people wouldn’t tie up their par- 
cels so tight, as if they were never to be undone,” 
cried he, as he tugged at the cord; and he pulled 
the knot closer instead of loosening it. 

“Ben! why, how did you get yours undone, 


4 Waste Not, Want Not 

man? — what’s in your parcel? — I wonder what 



is in mine. I wish I could get this string off — 
I must cut it.” 

“Oh, no,” said Ben, who now had undone the 



Waste Not, Want Not 


5 


last knot of his parcel, and who drew out the 
length of string with exultation, “don’t cut it, 
Hal. Look what a nice cord this is, and yours is 
the same: it’s a pity to cut it; ‘ Waste not , want 
not!' you know.” 

“Pooh!” said Hal, “what signifies a bit of pack- 
thread?” 

“It is whip-cord.” 

“Well, whip-cord! what signifies a bit of whip- 
cord! you can get a bit of whip-cord twice as long 
as that for two-pence; and who cares for two- 
pence! Not I, for one! so here it goes,” cried 
Hal, drawing out his knife; and he cut the cord, 
precipitately, in sundry places. 

“Lads! have you undone the parcels for me?” 
said Mr. Gresham, opening the parlor-door as he 
spoke. “Yes, sir,” cried Hal; and he dragged 
off his half-cut, half-entangled string, — “here’s 
the parcel.” “And here’s my parcel, uncle; and 
here’s the string,” said Ben. “You may keep the 
string for your pains,” said Mr. Gresham. “Thank 
you, sir,” said Ben; “what an excellent whip-cord 
it is!” “And you, Hal,” continued Mr. Gresham, 
“you may keep your string too, if it will be of 
any use to you.” “It will be of no use to me, 
thank you, sir,” said Hal. “No, I am afraid not, 
if this be it,” said his uncle, taking up the jagged, 
knotted remains of Hal’s cord. 

A few days after this, Mr. Gresham gave to 
each of his nephews a new top. 


6 


Waste Not, Want Not 


“But how’s this?” said Hal; “these tops have 
no strings; what shall we do for strings?” “I 
have a string that will do very well for mine,” 
said Ben; and he pulled out of his pocket the fine, 
long, smooth string which had tied up the parcel. 
With this he soon set up his top, which spun ad- 
mirably well. 

“Oh how I wish I had but a string!” said Hal; 
“what shall I do for a string? I’ll tell you what; 
I can use the string that goes round my hat!” 
“But then,” said Ben, “what will you do for a 
hat-band?” “I’ll manage to do without one,” 
said Hal; and he took the string off his hat for 
his top. It soon was worn through; and he split 
his top by driving the peg too tightly into it. 
His cousin Ben let him set up his the next day; 
but Hal was not more fortunate or more careful 
when he meddled with other people’s things than 
when he managed his own. He had scarcely 
played half an hour before he split it, by driving 
in the peg too violently. 

Ben bore this misfortune with good humor. 
“Come,” said he, “it can’t be helped: but give me 
the string, because that may still be of use for 
something else.” 

It happened some time afterwards that a lady, 
who had been intimately acquainted with Hal’s 
mother at Bath, now arrived at Clifton. She was 
informed by his mother that Hal was at Mr. Gres- 
ham’s; and her sons who were friends of his, 


Waste Not, Want Not 


7 


came to see him, and invited him to spend the 
next day with them. 

Hal joyfully accepted the invitation. He was 
always glad to go out to dine, because it gave him 
something to do, something to think of, or at least 
something to say. Besides this, he had been edu- 
cated to think it was a fine thing to visit fine 
people; and Lady Diana Sweepstakes (for that 
was the name of his mother’s acquaintance) was 
a very fine lady, and her two sons intended to 
be very great gentlemen. He was in a prodigious 
hurry when these young gentlemen knocked at 
his uncle’s door the next day; but just as he got 
to the hall door, little Patty called to him from 
the top of the stairs, and told him that he had 
dropped his pocket-handkerchief. 

'‘Pick it up, then, and bring it to me, quick, 
can’t you, child?” cried Hal, “for Lady Di’s sons 
are waiting for me.” 

Little Patty did not know anything about Lady 
Di’s sons; but she was very good-natured, and 
saw that her cousin Hal was, for some reason or 
other, in a desperate hurry, so she ran down-stairs 
as fast as she possibly could, towards the landing- 
place, where the handkerchief lay; but, alas! be- 
fore she reached the handkerchief, she fell, rolling 
down a whole flight of stairs, and when her fall 
was at last stopped by the landing-place, she did 
not cry, but she writhed as if she was in great 
pain. 


8 


Waste Not, Want Not 


“Where are you hurt, my love?” said Mr. 
Gresham, who came instantly, on hearing the 



She fell down a whole flight of stairs. 


noise of some one falling down-stairs. “Where 
are you hurt, my dear?” 



Waste Not, Want Not 


9 


“Here, papa,” said the little girl, touching her 
ankle; “I believe I am hurt here, but not much,” 
added she, trying to rise; “only it hurts me when 
I move.” “I’ll carry you; don’t move, then,” said 
her father; and he took her up in his arms. “My 
shoe; I’ve lost one of my shoes,” said she. 

Ben looked for it upon the stairs, and he found 
it sticking in a loop of whip-cord, which was en- 
tangled round one of the banisters. When this 
cord was drawn forth, it appeared that it was the 
very same jagged entangled piece which Hal had 
pulled off his parcel. He had diverted himself 
with running up and down-stairs, whipping the 
banisters with it, for he thought he could convert 
it to no better use; and, with his usual careless- 
ness, he at last left it hanging just where he hap- 
pened to throw it when the dinner-bell rang. 
Poor little Patty’s ankle was terribly sprained, and 
Hal reproached himself for his folly, and would 
have reproached himself longer, perhaps, if Lady 
Di Sweepstakes’ sons had not hurried him away. 

In the evening, Patty could not run about as 
she used to do; but she sat upon the sofa, and 
she said that she did not feel the pain in her 
ankle so much, whilst Ben was so good as to play 
at jack-straws with her. 

“That’s right, Ben; never be ashamed of being 
good-natured to those who are younger and weaker 
than yourself,” said his uncle, smiling at seeing 
him produce his whip-cord, to indulge his little 


io Waste Not, Want Not 

cousin with a game at her favorite cat ’s-cradle. 
“ I shall not think you one bit less manly, because 
I see you playing at cat’s-cradle with a little child 
of six years old.” 



“A game at her favorite cat’s-cradle.” 


Hal, however, was not precisely of his uncle’s 
opinion; for when he returned in the evening, and 
saw Ben playing with his little cousin, he could 
not help smiling contemptuously, and asked if he 
had been playing at cat’s-cradle all night. In a 
heedless manner he made some inquiries after 
Patty’s sprained ankle, and then he ran on to tell 
all the news he had heard at Lady Diana Sweep- 



Waste Not, Want Not 




1 1 


stakes’, — news which he thought would make 
him appear a person of vast importance. 

“Do you know, uncle, — do you know, Ben,” 
said he, — “there’s to be the most famous doings 
that ever were heard of upon the Downs here, 
the first day of next month, which will be in a 
fortnight, — thank my stars ! I wish the fort- 
night was over ; I shall think of nothing else, I 
know, till that happy day comes!” 

Mr. Gresham inquired why the first of Sep- 
tember was to be so much happier than any other 
day in the year. “Why,” replied Hal, “Lady 
Diana Sweepstakes, you know, is a famous rider 
and archer, and all that.” “Very likely,” said 
Mr. Gresham, soberly; “but what then?” 

“Dear uncle!” cried Hal, “but you shall hear. 
There’s to be a race upon the Downs the first of 
September, and after the race there’s to be an 
archery meeting for the ladies, and Lady Diana 
Sweepstakes is to be one of them. And after 
the ladies have done shooting, — now, Ben, comes 
the best part of it! — we boys are to have our 
turn, and Lady Di is to give a prize to the best 
marksman amongst us, of a very handsome bow 
and arrow! Do you know, I’ve been practising 
already, and I’ll show you to-morrow, as soon as 
it comes home, the famous bow and arrow that 
Lady Diana has given me; but, perhaps,” added 
he, with a scornful laugh, “you like a cat’s-cradle 
better than a bow and arrow.” 


12 


Waste Not, Want Not 


Ben made no reply to this taunt at the mo- 
ment; but the next day, when Hal’s new bow and 
arrow came home, he convinced Hal that he 
knew how to use it very well. 

“Ben,” said his uncle, “you seem to be a good 
marksman, though you have not boasted of your- 
self. I’ll give you a bow and arrow, and, per- 
haps if you practice, you may make yourself an 
archer before the first of September; and, in the 
meantime, you will not wish the fortnight to be 
over, for you will have something to do.” 

“Oh, sir,” interrupted Hal, “but if you mean 
that Ben should put in for the prize, he must 
have a uniform.” “Why must he?” said Mr. 
Gresham. “Why, sir, because everybody has — 
I mean everybody that’s anybody; and Lady 
Diana was talking about the uniform all dinner- 
time, and it’s settled all about it, except the but- 
tons; the young Sweepstakes are to get theirs 
made first for patterns: they are to be white, 
faced with green; and they’ll look very hand- 
some, I’m sure; and I shall write to mamma to- 
night, as Lady Diana bid me, about mine; and I 
shall tell her to be sure to answer my letter, with- 
out fail, by return of the post; and then if mam- 
ma makes no objection, which I know she won’t, 
because she never thinks much about expense, 
and all that, — then I shall bespeak my uniform, 
and get it made by the same tailor that makes 
for Lady Diana and the young Sweepstakes.” 


Waste Not, Want Not 


13 


“Mercy upon us!” said Mr. Gresham, who was 
almost stunned by the rapid vociferation with 
which this long speech about a uniform was pro- 
nounced. “ I don’t pretend to understand these 
things,” added he, with an air of simplicity; “but 
we will inquire, Ben, into the necessity of the 
case; and if it is necessary — or if you think it 
necessary that you shall have a uniform, — why, 
I’ll give you one.” 

“You, uncle! Will you, indeed?” exclaimed Hal, 
with amazement painted in his countenance. 
“Well, that’s the last thing in the world I should 
have expected! You are not at all the sort of 
person I should have thought would care about 
a uniform; and now I should have supposed you’d 
have thought it extravagant to have a coat on 
purpose only for one day; and I’m sure Lady 
Diana Sweepstakes thought as I do; for when I 
told her of that motto over your kitchen-chim- 
ney, ‘waste not, want not,’ she laughed, and 
said that I had better not talk to you about uni- 
forms, and that my mother was the proper per- 
son to write to about my uniform: but I’ll tell 
Lady Diana, uncle, how good you are, and how 
much she was mistaken.” 

“Take care how you do that,” said Mr. Gres- 
ham; “for perhaps the lady was not mistaken.” 
“Nay, did not you say, just now, you would give 
poor Ben a uniform?” “I said I would, if he 
thought it necessary to have one.” “Oh, I’ll an- 


i4 


Waste Not, Want Not 


swer for it, he’ll think it necessary,” said Hal, 
laughing, “because it is necessary.” “Allow him, 
at least, to judge for himself,” said Mr. Gresham. 
“My dear uncle, but I assure you,” said Hal, 
earnestly, “there’s no judging about the matter, 
because really, upon my word, Lady Diana said 
distinctly that her sons were to have uniforms, 
white faced with green, and a green and white 
cockade in their hats.” “Maybe so,” said Mr. 
Gresham, still with the same look of calm sim- 
plicity; “put on your hats, boys, and come with 
me.” 

“I cannot tell what to make of all he says,” 
whispered Hal as he reached down his hat; “do 
you think, Ben, he means to give you this uniform 
or not?” “I think,” said Ben, “that he means 
to give me one, if it is necessary, or, as he said, if 
I think it is necessary.” 

“And that to be sure you will; won’t you? or 
else you’ll be a great fool, I know, after all I’ve 
told you. How can any one in the world know so 
much about the matter as I, who have dined with 
Lady Diana Sweepstakes but yesterday, and heard 
all about it from beginning to end? And as for 
this gentleman that we are going to, I’m sure, if 
he knows anything about the matter, he’ll say 
exactly the same as I do.” 

The gentleman upon whom Mr. Gresham 
called had three sons, who were all to be at this 
archery meeting; and they unanimously assured 


Waste Not, Want Not 


15 


him, in the presence of Hal and Ben, that they 
had never thought of buying uniforms for this 
grand occasion, and that, amongst the number of 
their acquaintance, they knew of but three boys 
whose friends intended to be at such an unneces- 
sary expense. Hal stood amazed. 

“Such are the varieties of opinion upon all the 
grand affairs of life,” said Mr. Gresham, looking 
at his nephews. “What amongst one set of peo- 
ple you hear asserted to be absolutely necessary, 
you will hear from another set of people is quite 
unnecessary. All that can be done, my dear boys, 
in these difficult cases, is to judge for yourselves, 
which opinions, and which people, are the most 
reasonable.” 

Hal, who had been more accustomed to think 
of what was fashionable than of what was reason- 
able, without at all considering the good sense of 
what his uncle said to him, replied, with childish 
petulance, “Indeed, sir, I don’t know what other 
people think; but I only know what Lady Diana 
Sweepstakes said.” The name of Lady Diana 
Sweepstakes, Hal thought, must impress all pres- 
ent with respect: he was highly astonished when, 
as he looked round, he saw a smile of contempt 
upon every one’s countenance; and he was yet 
further bewildered when he heard her spoken of 
as a very silly, extravagant, ridiculous woman, 
whose opinion no prudent person would ask upon 
any subject, and whose example was to be 


16 Waste Not, Want Not 

shunned, instead of being imitated. “Aye, my 
dear Hal,” said his uncle, smiling at his look of 
amazement, “these are some of the things that 
young people must learn from experience. All 
the world do not agree in opinion about charac- 
ters: you will hear the same person admired in 
one company, and blamed in another; so that we 
must still come round to the same point, Judge 
for yourself.” 

Hal’s thoughts were, however, at present, too 
full of the uniform to allow his judgment to act 
with perfect impartiality. As soon as their visit 
was over, and all the time they walked down the 
hill from Prince’s Buildings towards Bristol, he 
continued to repeat nearly the same arguments 
which he had formerly used, respecting necessi- 
ty, the uniform, and Lady Diana Sweepstakes. 
To all this Mr. Gresham made no reply; and 
longer had the young gentleman expatiated upon 
the subject, which had so strongly seized upon 
his imagination, had not his senses been forcibly 
assailed at this instant by the delicious odors and 
tempting sight of certain cakes and jellies in a 
pastry-cook’s shop. “O uncle,” said he, as his 
uncle was going to turn the corner to pursue the 
road to Bristol, “look at those jellies!” pointing 
to a confectioner’s shop. “I must buy some of 
those good things, for I have got some half-pence 
in my pocket.” “Your having half-pence in your 
pocket is an excellent reason for eating,” said Mr. 


Waste Not, Want Not 


17 


Gresham, smiling. “But I really am hungry,” 
said Hal; “you know, uncle, it is a good while 
since breakfast.” 



I’ve only two-pence.” 


His uncle, who was desirous to see his nephews 
act without restraint, that he might judge their 
characters, bid them do as they pleased. 

“Come, then, Ben, if you’ve any half-pence in 


i8 


Waste Not, Want Not 


your pocket.” “I’m not hungry,” said Ben. “I 
suppose that means that you’ve no half-pence,” 
said Hal, laughing, with the look of superiority 
which he had been taught to think the rich 
might assume towards those who were convicted 
either of poverty or economy. “Waste not, 
want not,” said Ben to himself. Contrary to his 
cousin’s surmise, he happened to have two-penny- 
worth of half-pence actually in his pocket. 

At the very moment Hal stepped into the pas- 
try-cook’s shop, a poor, industrious man, with a 
wooden leg, who usually sweeps the dirty corner 
of the walk, which turns at this spot to the Wells, 
held his hat to Ben, who, after glancing his eye 
at the petitioner’s well-worn broom, instantly pro- 
duced his two-pence. “I wish I had more half- 
pence for you, my good man,” said he; “but I’ve 
only two-pence.” 

Hal came out of Mr. Miller’s, the confectioner’s 
shop, with a hatful of cakes in his hand. Mr. 
Miller’s dog was sitting on the flags before the 
door ; and he looked up, with a wistful, begging 
eye at Hal, who was eating a queen-cake. Hal, 
who was wasteful even in his good nature, threw 
a whole queen-cake to the dog, who swallowed it 
for a single mouthful. 

“There goes two-pence in the form of a queen- 
cake,” said Mr. Gresham. 

Hal next offered some of his cakes to his uncle 
and cousin ; but they thanked him and refused to 


Waste Not, Want Not 


19 


eat any, because, they said they were not hungry; 
so he ate and ate, as he walked along, till at last 



“Threw a whole queen-cake to the dog.” 


he stopped, and said, “This bun tastes so bad 
after the queen-cakes, I can’t bear it !” and he was 
going to fling it from him into the river. “Oh, it 



20 


Waste Not, Want Not 


is a pity to waste that good bun; we may be glad 
of it yet,” said Ben ; “give it to me, rather than 
throw it away.” “Why, I thought you said you 
were not hungry,” said Hal. “True, I am not 
hungry now; but that is no reason why I should 
never be hungry again.” “Well, there is the cake 
for you ; take it, for it has made me sick ; and I 
don’t care what becomes of it.” 

Ben folded the refuse bit of his cousin’s bun in 
a piece of paper, and put it into his' pocket. 

“I’m beginning to be exceedingly tired, or sick, 
or something,” said Hal. “There is a stand of 
coaches somewhere hereabouts; hadn’t we better 
take a coach, instead of walking all the way to 
Bristol?” 

“For a stout archer,” said Mr. Gresham, “you 
are more easily tired than one might have ex- 
pected. However, with all my heart, let us take 
a coach, for Ben asked me to show him the cathe- 
dral yesterday ; and I believe I should find it 
rather too much for me to walk so far, though I 
am not sick with eating good things.” 

“The cathedral!” said Hal, after he had been 
seated in the coach about a quarter of an hour, 
and had somewhat recovered from his sickness, — 
“the cathedral! Why, are we only going to Bris- 
tol to see the cathedral? I thought we came out 
to see about a uniform.” 

There was a dullness and melancholy kind of 
stupidity in Hal’s countenance as he pronounced 



The Nave of Bristol Cathedral. 


(From Nicholls & Taylor’s “ Bristol Past and Present,” London, 1881.) 



22 


Waste Not, Want Not 


these words, like one wakening from a dream, 
which made both his uncle and cousin burst out 
a-laughing. 

“ Why,” said Hal, who was now piqued, “ I’m sure 
you did say, uncle, you would go to Mr. Hall’s to 
choose the cloth for the uniform.” “Very true, 
and so I will,” said Mr. Gresham; “but we need 
not make a whole morning’s work, need we, of 
looking at a piece of cloth? Cannot we see a 
uniform and a cathedral both in one morning?” 

They went first to the cathedral. Hal’s head 
was too full of the uniform to take any notice of 
the painted window, which immediately caught 
Ben’s unembarrassed attention. Mr. Gresham, 
who perceived that he was eager on all subjects 
to gain information, took this opportunity of 
telling him several things about the lost art of 
painting on glass, Gothic arches, etc., which Hal 
thought extremely tiresome. 

“Come! come! we shall be late indeed,” said 
Hal; “surely you’ve looked long enough, Ben, at 
this blue and red window.” “ I’m only thinking 
about these colored shadows,” said Ben. “ I can 
show you, when we go home, Ben,” said his uncle, 
“ an entertaining paper upon such shadows.” 
“Hark!” cried Ben, “did you hear that noise?” 
They all listened ; and they heard a bird singing 
in the cathedral. “It’s our old robin, sir,” said 
the lad who had opened the cathedral-door for 
them. 


Waste Not, Want Not 


23 


“Yes,” said Mr. Gresham, “there he is, boys, 
look, — perched upon the organ ; he often sits 
there, and sings, whilst the organ is playing.” 
“And,” continued the lad who showed the cathe- 
dral, “he has lived here these many, many win- 
ters. They say he is fifteen years old ; and he is 
so tame, poor fellow, that if I had a bit of bread 
he’d come down and feed in my hand.” “I’ve a 
bit of a bun here,” cried Ben, joyfully, producing 
the remains of the bun which Hal but an hour 
before would have thrown away. “Pray let us 
see the poor robin eat out of your hand.” 

The lad crumbled the bun, and called to the 
robin, who fluttered and chirped, and seemed 
rejoiced at the sight of the bread; but he did not 
come down from his pinnacle on the organ. 

“He is afraid of us,” said Ben; “he is not used 
to eat before strangers, I suppose.” 

“Ah, no, sir,” said the young man, with a deep 
sigh, “that is not the thing. He is used enough 
to eat before company. Time was he’d have come 
down for me before ever so many fine folks, and 
have ate his crumbs out of my hand at my first 
call; but, poor fellow, it’s not his fault now. He 
does not know me now, sir, since my accident, 
because of this great black patch.” The young 
man put his hand to his right eye, which was 
covered with a huge black patch. Ben asked 
what accident he meant; and the lad told him 
that, but a few weeks ago, he had lost the sight 


24 


Waste Not, Want Not 


of his eye by the stroke of a stone, which unluck- 
ily reached him as he was passing under the 
rocks at Clifton when the workmen were blast- 
ing. “ I don’t mind so much for myself, sir,” said 
the lad ; but I can’t work so well now, as I used 
to do before my accident, for my old mother who 
has had a stroke of the palsy; and I’ve many little 
brothers and sisters not well able yet to get their 
own livelihood, though they be as willing as will- 
ing can be.” 

“ Where does your mother live?” said Mr. Gres- 
ham. 

“Hard by, sir, just close to the church here: 
it was she that always had the showing of it to 
strangers, till she lost the use of her poor limbs.” 

“Shall we, may we, uncle, go that way? This 
is the house; is not it?” said Ben, when they 
went out of the cathedral. 

They went into the house ; it was rather a 
hovel than a house; but poor as it was, it was as 
neat as misery could make it. The old woman 
was sitting up in her wretched bed winding 
worsted ; four meagre, ill-clothed, pale children 
were all busy, some of them sticking pins in paper 
for the pin-maker, and others sorting rags for the 
paper-maker. 

“What a horrid place it is!” said Hal, sighing; 
“I didn’t know there were such shocking places 
in the world. I’ve often seen terrible-looking, 
tumble-down places, as we drove through the town 


Waste Not, Want Not 


25 


in mamma’s carriage; but then I did not know 
who lived in them; and I never saw the inside of 
any of them. It is very dreadful, indeed, to think 
that people are forced to live in this way. I wish 
mamma would send me some more pocket-money, 
that I might do something for them. I had 
half-a-crown ; but,” continued he, feeling in his 
pockets, “I’m afraid I spent the last shilling of it 
this morning upon those cakes that made me sick. 
I wish I had my shilling 'now, I’d give it to these 
poor people.” 

Ben, though he was all this time silent, was as 
sorry as his talkative cousin for all these poor 
people. But there was some difference between 
the sorrow of these two boys. 

Hal, after he was again seated in the hackney- 
coach, and had rattled through the busy streets 
of Bristol for a few minutes, quite forgot the spec- 
tacle of misery which he had seen; and the gay 
shops in Wine Street and the idea of his green and 
white uniform wholly occupied his imagination. 

“Now for our uniforms!” cried he, as he jumped 
eagerly out of the coach, when his uncle stopped 
at the woolen-draper’s door. 

“Uncle,” said Ben, stopping Mr. Gresham before 
he got out of the carriage, “I don’t think a uni- 
form is at all necessary for me. I’m very much 
obliged to you ; but I would rather not have one. 
I have a very good coat; and I think it would 
be waste.” 


26 


Waste Not, Want Not 


“Well, let me get out of the carriage, and we 
will see about it,” said Mr. Gresham; “perhaps 
the sight of the beautiful green and white cloth, 
and the epaulet (have you ever considered the 
epaulets?) may tempt you to change your mind.” 
“Oh no,” said Ben, laughing: “I shall not change 
my mind.” 

The green cloth, and the white cloth, and the 
epaulets were produced, to Hal’s infinite satisfac- 
tion. His uncle took up a pen, and calculated for 
a few minutes; then, showing the back of the 
letter upon which he was writing to his nephews, 
“Cast up these sums, boys,” said he, “and tell me 
whether I am right.” “Ben, do you do it,” said 
Hal, a little embarrassed; “I am not quick at 
figures.” Ben was, and he went over his uncle’s 
calculation very expeditiously. 

“It is right, is it?” said Mr. Gresham. “Yes, 
sir, quite right.” “Then by this calculation, I 
find I could, for less than half the money your 
uniforms would cost, purchase for each of you 
boys a warm great-coat, which you will want, I 
have a notion, this winter upon the Downs.” 

“Oh, sir,” said Hal, with an alarmed look; 
“but it is not winter yet; it is not cold weather 
yet. We shan’t want great-coats yet.” 

“Don’t you remember how cold we were, Hal, 
the day before yesterday, in that sharp wind, 
when we were flying our kite upon the Downs? 
and winter will come, though it is not come yet. 


Waste Not, Want Not 


2.7 


I am sure, I should like to have a good warm 
great-coat very much.” 

Mr. Gresham took six guineas out of his purse; 
and he placed three of them before Hal and three 
before Ben. “Young gentlemen,” said he, “I be- 
lieve your uniforms would come to about three 
guineas apiece. Now I will lay out this money 
for you just as you please. Hal, what say you?” 
“Why, sir,” said Hal, “a great-coat is a good 
thing, to be sure; and then, after the great-coat, 
as you said it would only cost half as much as the 
uniform, there would be some money to spare, 
wouldn’t there?” “Yes, my dear, about five-and- 
twenty shillings.” “Five-and-twenty shillings? 
I could buy and do a great many things, to be 
sure, with five-and-twenty shillings; but then, the 
thing is, I must go without the uniform, if I have 
the great-coat.” “Certainly,” said his uncle. 
“Ah!” said Hal, sighing, as he looked at the 
epaulet, “uncle, if you would not be displeased if 
I choose the uniform” — “I shall not be dis- 
pleased at your choosing whatever you like best,” 
said Mr. Gresham. 

“Well, then, thank you, sir,” said Hal; “I think 
I had better have the uniform, because, if I have 
not the uniform now directly, it will be of no use 
to me, as the archery meeting is the week after 
next, you know; and as to the great-coat, per- 
haps between this time and the very cold weather, 
which, perhaps, won’t be till Christmas, papa will 


28 


Waste Not, Want Not 


buy a great-coat for me; and I’ll ask mamma to 
give me some pocket-money to give away, and 
she will, perhaps.” To all this conclusive, condi- 
tional reasoning, which depended upon “perhaps,” 
three times repeated, Mr. Gresham made no re- 
ply; but he immediately bought the uniform for 
Hal, and desired that it should be sent to Lady 
Diana Sweepstakes’ son’s tailor, to be made up. 
The measure of Hal’s happiness was now com- 
plete. 

“And how am I to lay out the three guineas 
for you, Ben?” said Mr. Gresham; “speak, what 
do you wish for first?” “A great-coat, uncle, if 
you please.” Mr. Gresham bought the coat; and, 
after it was paid for, five-and-twenty shillings of 
Ben’s three guineas remained. “What next, my 
boy?” said his uncle. “Arrows, uncle, if you 
please: three arrows.” “My dear, I promised 
you a bow and arrows.” “No, uncle, you only 
said a bow.” “Well, I meant a bow and arrows. 
I’m glad you .are so exact, however. It is better 
to claim less than more of what is promised. 
The three arrows you shall have. But, go on; 
how shall I dispose of these five-and-twenty shill- 
ings for you?” “In clothes, if you will be so 
good, uncle, for that poor boy who has the great 
black patch on his eye.’ 

“I always believed,” said Mr. Gresham, shak- 
ing hands with Ben, “that economy and generos- 
ity were the best friends, instead of being ene- 


Waste Not, Want Not 


29 


mies, as some silly, extravagant people would 
have us think them. Choose the poor blind boy’s 
coat, my dear nephew, and pay for it. There’s 
no occasion for my praising you about the mat- 
ter. Your best reward is in your own mind, 
child; and you want no other, or I’m mistaken. 
Now jump into the coach, boys, and let’s be off. 
We shall be late, I’m afraid,” continued he, 
as the coach drove on; “but I must let you 
stop, Ben, with your goods, at the poor boy’s 
door.” 

When they came to the house, Mr. Gresham 
opened the coach-door, and Ben jumped out with 
his parcel under his arm. 

“Stay, stay! You must take me with you,” 
said his pleased uncle; “I like to see people made 
happy, as well as you do.” “And so do I too!” 
said Hal; “let me come with you. I almost wish 
my uniform was not gone to the tailor’s, so I do.” 
And when he saw the look of delight and grati- 
tude with which the poor boy received the clothes 
which Ben gave him, and when he heard the 
mother and children thank him, Hal sighed, and 
said, “Well, I hope mamma will give me some 
more pocket-money soon.” 

Upon his return home, however, the sight of 
the famous bow and arrow, which Lady Diana 
Sweepstakes had sent him, recalled to his imagi- 
nation all the joys of his green and white uni- 
form ; and he no longer wished that it had not 


30 


Waste Not, Want Not 


been sent to the tailor’s. “But I don’t under- 
stand, cousin Hal,” said little Patty, “why you 
call this bow a famous bow. You say famous 
very often; and I don’t know exactly what it 
means; a famous uniform — famous doings. I 
remember you said there are to be famous doings, 
the first of September, upon the Downs. What 
does famous mean?” “Oh, why, famous means — 
don’t you know what famous means? It means 
— it is a word that people say — it is the fashion 
to say it — it means — it means famous.” Patty 
laughed, and said, “This does not explain it to 
me.” 

“No,”, said Hal, “nor can it be explained: if 
you don’t understand it, that’s not my fault; 
everybody but little children, I suppose, under- 
stands it; but there’s no explaining that sort of 
words, if you don’t take them at once. There’s 
to be famous doings upon the Downs, the first of 
September; that is, grand, fine. In short, what 
does it signify talking any longer, Patty, about 
the matter? Give me my bow, for I must go out 
upon the Downs and practice.” 

Ben accompanied him with the bow and the 
three arrows which his uncle had now given to 
him; and every day these two boys went out 
upon the Downs and practiced shooting with in- 
defatigable perseverance. Our two archers, by 
constant practice, became expert marksmen; and 
before the day of trial they were so exactly 


Waste Not, Want Not 


3i 


matched in point of dexterity, that it was scarcely 
possible to decide which was superior. 

The long-expected first of September at length 
arrived. “What sort of day is it?” was the first 
question that was asked by Hal and Ben the 
moment that they wakened. The sun shone 
bright! but there was a sharp and high wind. 
“Ha!” said Ben, “I shall be glad of my good 
great-coat to-day; for I’ve a notion it will be 
rather cold upon the Downs, especially when we 
are standing still, as we must, whilst all the peo- 
ple are shooting.” “Oh, never mind! I don’t 
think I shall feel it cold at all,” said Hal, as he 
dressed himself in his new green and white uni- 
form; and he viewed himself with much compla- 
cency. 

“Good-morning to you, uncle; how do you 
do?” said he, in a voice of exultation, when he 
entered the breakfast-room. How do you do? 
seemed rather to mean: How do you like me in 
my uniform? And his uncle’s cool, “Very well, 
I thank you, Hal,” disappointed him, as it seemed 
only to say, “Your uniform makes no difference 
in my opinion of you.” 

Even little Patty went on eating her breakfast 
much as usual, and talked of the pleasure of walk- 
ing with her father to the Downs, and of all the 
little things which interested her; so that Hal’s 
epaulets were not the principal object in any 
one’s imagination but his own. 


3 2 


Waste Not, Want Not 


“Papa,” said Patty, “as we go up the hill 
where there is so much red mud, I must take care 
to pick my way nicely; and I must hold up my 
frock, as you desired me; and perhaps you will 
be so good, if I am not troublesome, to lift me 
over the very bad places where there are no step- 
ping-stones. My ankle is entirely well, and I’m 
glad of that, or else I should not be able to walk 
so far as the Downs. How good you were to me, 
Ben, when I was in pain, the day I sprained my 
ankle! you played at jack-straws, and at cat’s- 
cradle, with me. Oh, that puts me in mind — 
here are your gloves, which I asked you that 
night to let me mend. I’ve been a great while 
about them; but are they not very neatly mended, 
papa? — look at the sewing.” 

“I am not a very good judge of sewing, my 
dear little girl,” said Mr. Gresham, examining 
the work with a close and scrupulous eye; “but, 
in my opinion, here is one stitch that is rather 
too long. The white teeth are not quite even.” 
“Oh, papa, I’ll take out that long tooth in a 
minute,” said Patty, laughing: “I did not think 
that you would have observed it so soon.” 

“ I would not have you trust to my blindness,” 
said her father, stroking her head fondly; “I ob- 
serve everything. I observe, for instance, that 
you are a grateful little girl, and that you are 
glad to be of use to those who have been kind to 
you; and for this I forgive you the long stitch.” 


Waste Not, Want Not 33 

“But it’s out, it’s out, papa,” said Patty; “and 



“Here are your gloves.” 


the next time your gloves want mending, Ben, 
I’ll mend them better.” 


34 


Waste Not, Want Not 


“They are very nice, I think,” said Ben, draw- 
ing them on; “and I am much obliged to you. 
I was just wishing I had a pair of gloves to keep 
my fingers warm to-day, for I never can shoot 
well when my hands are benumbed. Look, Hal, 
you know how ragged these gloves were; you 
said they were good for nothing but to throw 
away; now look, there’s not a hole in them,” said 
he, spreading his fingers. 

“Now, is it not very extraordinary,” said Hal 
to himself, “that they should go on so long talk- 
ing about an old pair of gloves, without saying a 
word about my new uniform? Well, the young 
Sweepstakes and Lady Diana will talk enough 
about it; that’s one comfort. Is it not time to 
think of setting out, sir?” said Hal to his uncle. 
“The company, you know, are to meet at the 
Ostrich at twelve, and the race is to begin at 
one, and Lady Diana’s horses, I know, were or- 
dered to be at the door at ten.” 

Mr. Stephen, the butler, here interrupted the 
hurrying young gentleman in his calculations. 
“There’s a poor lad, sir, below, with a great black 
patch on his right eye, who is come from Bristol 
and wants to speak a word with the young gentle- 
men, if you please. I told him they were just 
going out with you ; but he says he won’t detain 
them more than half a minute.” 

“Show him up, show him up,” said Mr. Gres- 
ham. 


Waste Not, Want Not 


35 


“But, I suppose,” said Hal, with a sigh, “that 
Stephen mistook when he said the young 
gentlemen; he only wants to see Ben, I dare 
say; I’m sure he has no reason to want to see 
me.” 

“Here he comes. O Ben, he is dressed in the 
new coat you gave him,” whispered Hal, who was 
really a good-natured boy, though extravagant. 
“How much better he looks than he did in the 
ragged coat ! Ah ! he looked at you first, Ben — 
and well he may!” 

The boy bowed, without any cringing civility, 
but with an open, decent freedom in his manner, 
which expressed that he had been obliged, but 
that he knew his young benefactor was not think- 
ing of the obligation. He made as little distinc- 
tion as possible between his bows to the two 
cousins. 

“As I was sent with a message, by the clerk of 
our parish, to Redland chapel out on the Downs, 
to-day, sir,” said he to Mr. Gresham, “knowing 
your house lay in my way, my mother, sir, bade 
me call and make bold to offer the young gentle- 
men two little worsted balls that she has worked 
for them,” continued the lad, pulling out of his 
pocket two worsted balls worked in green and 
orange - colored stripes. “They are but poor 
things, sir, she bade me say, to look at; but, con- 
sidering she has but one hand to work with, and 
that her left hand, you’ll not despise ’em, we 


36 


Waste Not, Want Not 


hopes.” He held the balls to Ben and Hal. 
“They are both alike, gentlemen,” said he. “If 
you’ll be pleased to take ’em, they’re better than 
they look, for they bound higher than your head. 
I cut the cork round for the inside myself, which 
was all I could do.” 

“They are nice balls, indeed; we are much 
obliged to you,” said the boys as they received 
them; and they proved them immediately. The 
ball struck the floor with a delightful sound, and 
rebounded higher than Mr. Gresham’s head. 
Little Patty clapped her hands joyfully. But now 
a thundering double rap at the door was heard. 

“The Master Sweepstakes, sir,” said Stephen, 
“are come for Master Hal. They say that all the 
young gentlemen who have archery uniforms are 
to walk together, in a body, I think they say, sir; 
and they are to parade along the Well Walk, 
they desired me to say, sir, with a drum and fife, 
and so up the hill by Prince’s Place, and all to go 
upon the Downs together, to the place of meet- 
ing. I am not sure I’m right, sir; for both the 
young gentlemen spoke at once, and the wind is 
very high at the street-door, so that I could not 
well make out all they said; but I believe this is 
the sense of it.” 

“Yes, yes,” said Hal, eagerly, “it’s all right. I 
know that is just what was settled the day I 
dined at Lady Diana’s; and Lady Diana and a 
great party of gentlemen are to ride” — 


Waste Not, Want Not 


37 


“Well, that is nothing to the purpose,” inter- 
rupted Mr. Gresham. “Don’t keep these Master 
Sweepstakes waiting. Decide: do you choose to 
go with them or with us?” “Sir — uncle — sir, 
you know, since all the uniforms agreed to go to- 
gether” — “Off with you, then, Mr. Uniform, if 
you mean to go,” said Mr. Gresham. 

Hal ran down-stairs in such a hurry that he 
forgot his bow and arrows. Ben discovered this 
when he went to fetch his own; and the lad from 
Bristol, who had been ordered by Mr. Gresham 
to eat his breakfast before he proceeded to Red- 
land Chapel, heard Ben talking about his cousin’s 
bow and arrows. “I know,” said Ben, “he will be 
sorry not to have his bow with him, because here 
are the green knots tied to it, to match his cock- 
ade; and he said that the boys were all to carry 
their bows, as part of the show.” 

“If you’ll give me leave, sir,” said the poor 
Bristol lad, “I shall have plenty of time; and I’ll 
run down to the Well Walk after the young gen- 
tleman, and take him his bow and arrows.” 

“Will you? I shall be much obliged to you,” 
said Ben; and away went the boy with the bow 
that was ornamented with green ribbons. 

The public walk leading to the Wells was full 
of company. The windows of all the houses in 
St. Vincent’s Parade were crowded with well- 
dressed ladies, who were looking out in expecta- 
tion of the archery procession. Parties of gentle- 


38 


Waste Not, Want Not 


men and ladies, and a motley crowd of spectators 
was seen moving backwards and forwards, under 
the rocks, on the opposite side of the water. A 
barge, with colored streamers flying, was waiting 
to take up a party who were going upon the 
water. The bargemen rested upon their oars, 
and gazed with broad faces of curiosity upon the 
busy scene that appeared upon the public walk. 

The archers were now drawn up on the flags, 
under the semicircular piazza just before Mrs. 
Yearsley’s library. A little band of children, 
who had been mustered by Lady Diana Sweep- 
stakes’ ^'spirited exertions, closed the procession. 
They were now all in readiness. The drummer 
only waited for her ladyship’s signal; and the 
archers’ corps only waited for her ladyship’s word 
of command to march. 

“Where are your bow and arrows, my little 
man?” said her ladyship to Hal, as she reviewed 
her Lilliputian regiment. “You can’t march, 
man, without your arms!” 

Hal had dispatched a messenger for his forgot- 
ten bow, but the messenger returned not. He 
looked from side to side in great distress. “Oh, 
there’s my bow coming, I declare!” cried he: — 
“look, I see the bow and the ribbons. Look now, 
between the trees, Charles Sweepstakes, on the 
Hortwell Walk; — it is coming!” “But you’ve 
kept us all waiting a confounded time,” said his 
impatient friend. “It is that good-natured poor 


Waste Not, Want Not 


39 


fellow from Bristol, I protest, that has brought it 
me; I’m sure I don’t deserve it from him,” said 
Hal to himself, when he saw the lad with the 
black patch on his eye running, quite out of 
breath, towards him with his bow and arrows. 

“Fall back, my good friend; fall back,” said 
the military lady, as soon as he had delivered the 
bow to Hal; “I mean, stand out of the way, for 
your great patch cuts no figure amongst us. 
Don’t follow so close, now, as if you belonged to 
us, pray.” 

The poor boy had no ambition to partake of 
the triumph; he fell back as soon as he under- 
stood the meaning of the lady’s words. The 
drum beat, the fife played, the archers marched, 
the spectators admired. Hal stepped proudly, 
and felt as if the eyes of the whole universe were 
upon his epaulets, or upon the facings of his 
uniform; whilst all the time he was considered 
only as part of a show. 

The walk appeared much shorter than usual, 
and he was extremely sorry that Lady Diana, 
when they were half-way up the hill leading to 
Prince’s Place, mounted her horse, because the 
road was dirty, and all the gentlemen and ladies 
who accompanied her followed her example. 

“We can leave the children to walk, you know,” 
said she to the gentleman who helped her to 
mount her horse. “ I must call to some of them, 
though, and leave orders where they are to join.” 


4o 


Waste Not, Want Not 


She beckoned ; and Hal, who was foremost, 
and proud to show his alacrity, ran on to receive 
her ladyship’s orders. Now, as we have before 
observed, it was a sharp and windy day; and 
though Lady Diana Sweepstakes was actually 
speaking to him, and looking at him, he could 
not prevent his nose from wanting to be blowed: 
he pulled out his handkerchief, and out rolled 
the new ball which had been given to him just 
before he left home, and which, according to his 
usual careless habits, he had stuffed into his pock- 
et in his hurry. “Oh, my new ball!” cried he, 
as he ran after it. As he stooped to pick it up, 
he let go his hat, which he had hitherto held on 
with anxious care; for the hat, though it had a 
fine green and white cockade, had no band or 
string round it. The string, as we may recollect, 
our wasteful hero had used in spinning his top. 
The hat was too large for his head without this 
band; a sudden gust of wind blew it off. Lady 
Diana’s horse started and reared. She was a 
famous horsewoman, and sat him to the admira- 
tion of all beholders; but there was a puddle of 
red clay and water in this spot, and her ladyship’s 
uniform-habit was a sufferer by the accident. 
“Careless brat!” said she, “why can’t he keep his 
hat upon his head?” In the meantime the wind 
blew the hat down the hill, and Hal ran after it, 
amidst the laughter of his kind friends, the young 
Sweepstakes, and the rest of the little regiment. 



Waste Not, Want Not 


4i 


The hat was lodged, at length, upon a bank. 
Hal pursued it; he thought this bank was hard, 
but, alas ! the moment he set his foot upon it the 
foot sank. He tried to draw it back; his other 
foot slipped, and he fell prostrate, in his green 
and white uniform, into the treacherous bed of 
red mud. His companions, who had halted upon 
the top of the hill, stood laughing spectators of 
his misfortune. 

It happened that the poor boy with the black 
patch upon his eye, who had been ordered by 
Lady Diana to “fall back,” and to “keep at a dis- 
tance,” was now coming up the hill; and the mo- 
ment he saw our fallen hero he hastened to his 
assistance. He dragged poor Hal, who was a 
deplorable spectacle, out of the red mud. The 
obliging mistress of a lodging-house, as soon as 
she understood that the young gentleman was 
nephew to Mr. Gresham, to whom she had for- 
merly let her house, received Hal, covered as he 
was with dirt. 

The poor Bristol lad hastened to Mr. Gresham’s 
for clean stockings and shoes for Hal. He was 
unwilling to give up his uniform; it was rubbed 
and rubbed, and a spot here and there was 
washed out ; and he kept continually repeating, 
“When it’s dry it will all brush off — when it’s 
dry it will all brush off, won’t it?” But soon the 
fear of being too late at the archery-meeting be- 
gan to balance the dread of appearing in his 


Waste Not, Want Not 


42 

stained habiliments; and he now as anxiously re- 



“He dragged poor Hal . . . out of the red mud.” 


peated, whilst the woman held the wet coat to 
the fire, “Oh, I shall be too late; indeed I shall 


Waste Not, Want Not 


43 


be too late; make haste; it will never dry; hold 
it nearer — nearer to the fire. I shall lose my 
turn to shoot; oh, give me the coat; I don’t mind 
how it is, if I can but get it on.” 

Holding it nearer and nearer to the fire dried 
it quickly, to be sure ; but it shrunk it also, so that 
it was no easy matter to get the coat on again. 
However, Hal, who did not see the red splashes, 
which, in spite of all these operations, were too 
visible upon his shoulders and upon the skirts of 
his white coat behind, was pretty well satisfied 
to observe that there was not one spot upon the 
facings. “Nobody,” said he, “will take notice of 
my coat behind, I dare say. I think it looks as 
smart almost as ever!” — and under this persua- 
sion our young archer resumed his bow, — his 
bow with green ribbons, now no more! — and he 
pursued his way to the Downs. 

All his companions were far out of sight. “ I 
suppose,” said he to his friend with the black 
patch, — “I suppose my uncle and Ben had left 
home before you went for the shoes and stock- 
ings for me?” “Oh yes, sir; the butler said they 
had been gone to the Downs a matter of a good 
half-hour or more.” 

Hal trudged on as fast as he possibly could. 
When he got upon the Downs, he saw numbers 
of carriages, and crowds of people, all going to- 
wards the place of meeting at the Ostrich. He 
pressed forward. He was at first so much afraid 


44 


Waste Not, Want Not 


of being late that he did not take notice of the 
mirth his motley appearance excited in all be- 
holders. At length he reached the appointed 
spot. There was a great crowd of people. In 
the midst he heard Lady Diana’s loud voice bet- 
ting upon some one who was just going to shoot 
at the mark. 

“So then the shooting is begun, is it?” said 
Hal. “Oh, let me in! pray let me into the circle! 
I’m one of the archers — I am, indeed; don’t you 
see my green and white uniform?” 

“Your red and white uniform, you mean,” said 
the man to whom he addressed himself; and the 
people, as they opened a passage for him, could 
not refrain from laughing at the mixture of dirt 
and finery which it exhibited. In vain, when he 
got into the midst of the formidable circle, he 
looked to his friends, the young Sweepstakes, for 
their countenance and support. They were 
amongst the most unmerciful of the laughers. 
Lady Diana also seemed more to enjoy than to 
pity his confusion. 

“Why could you not keep your hat upon your 
head, man?” said she, in her masculine tone. 
“You have been almost the ruin of my poor uni- 
form-habit; but I’ve escaped rather better than 
you have. Don’t stand there, in the middle of 
the circle, or you’ll have an arrow in your eyes 
just now, I’ve a notion.” 

Hal looked round in search of better friends. 


Waste Not, Want Not 


45 


“Oh, where s my uncle? — where’s Ben?” said 
he. He was in such confusion that, amongst the 
number of faces, he could scarcely distinguish 
one from another; but he felt somebody at this 
moment pull his elbow, and, to his great relief, 
he heard the friendly voice, and saw the good- 
natured face of his cousin Ben. 

“Come back; come behind these people,” said 
Ben; “and put on my great-coat; here it is for 
you.” 

Right glad was Hal to cover his disgraced uni- 
form with the rough great-coat which he had for- 
merly despised. He pulled the stained, drooping 
cockade out of his unfortunate hat; and he was 
now sufficiently recovered from his vexation to 
give an intelligible account of his accident to his 
uncle and Patty, who anxiously inquired what had 
detained him so long, and what had been the 
matter. In the midst of the history of his dis- 
aster, he was just proving to Patty that his tak- 
ing the hat-band to spin his top had nothing to 
do with his misfortune, and he was at the same 
time endeavoring to refute his uncle’s opinion 
that the waste of the whip-cord that tied the par- 
cel was the original cause of all his evils, when 
he was summoned to try his skill with his famous 
bow. 

“My hands are benumbed; I can scarcely feel,” 
said he, rubbing them, and blowing upon the 
ends of his fingers. 


46 


Waste Not, Want Not 


“Come, come,” cried young Sweepstakes, — 
“I’m within one inch of the mark; who’ll go 
nearer, I shall like to see. Shoot away, Hal; but 
first understand our laws ; we settled them before 
you came upon the green. You are to have three 
shots, with your own bow and your own arrows ; 
and nobody’s to borrow or lend under pretence 
of other bows being better or worse, or under 
any pretence. Do you hear, Hal?” 

This young gentleman had good reasons for 
being so strict in these laws, as he had observed 
that none of his companions had such an excel- 
lent bow as he had provided for himself. Some 
of the boys had forgotten to bring more than one 
arrow with them, and by his cunning regulation 
that each person should shoot with their own 
arrows, many had lost one or two of their shots. 

“You are a lucky fellow; you have your three 
arrows,” said young Sweepstakes. “Come, we 
can’t wait whilst you rub your fingers, man ; — 
shoot away.” 

Hal was rather surprised at the asperity with 
which his friend spoke. He little knew how eas- 
ily acquaintances, who call themselves friends, can 
change, when their interest comes in the slight- 
est degree in competition with their friendship. 
Hurried by his impatient rival, and with his 
hands so much benumbed that he could scarcely 
feel how to fix the arrow in the string, he drew 
the bow. The arrow was within a quarter of an 


Waste Not, Want Not 


47 


inch of Master Sweepstakes’ mark, which was 
the nearest that had yet been hit. Hal seized 



“Drew from his pocket an excellent piece of whip-cord.” 

his second arrow. “If I have any luck,” said he — 
But just as pronounced the word luck, and as he 



48 


Waste Not, Want Not 


bent his bow, the string broke in two, and the 
bow fell from his hands. 

“There, it’s all over with you!” cried Master 
Sweepstakes, with a triumphant laugh. 

“Here’s my bow for him, and welcome,” said 
Ben. “No, no, sir,” said Master Sweepstakes, 
“that is not fair; that’s' against the regulation. 
You may shoot with your own bow, if you choose 
it, or you may not, just as you think proper; but 
you must not lend it, sir.” 

It was now Ben’s turn to make his trial. His 
first arrow was not successful. His second was 
exactly as near as Hal’s first. “You have but one 
more,” said Master Sweepstakes; now for it!” 
Ben, before he ventured his last arrow, prudently 
examined the string of his bow ; and as he pulled 
it to try its strength, it cracked. Master Sweep- 
stakes clapped his hands with loud exultations 
and insulting laughter. But his laughter ceased 
when our provident hero calmly drew from his 
pocket an excellent piece of whip-cord. 

“The everlasting whip-cord, I declare!” ex- 
claimed Hal, when he saw that it was the very 
same that had tied up the parcel. “Yes,” said 
Ben, as he fastened it to his bow, I put it into my 
pocket to-day on purpose, because I thought I 
might happen to want it.” He drew his bow the 
third and last time. 

“Oh, papa!” cried little Patty, as his arrow hit 
the mark, “it’s the nearest; is it not the nearest?” 


Waste Not, Want Not 49 

Master Sweepstakes, with anxiety examined 



“He drew his bow the third and last time.” 


the hit. There could be no doubt. Ben was vic- 
torious ! The bow, the prize-bow, was now deliv- 


50 


Waste Not, Want Not 


ered to him; and Hal, as he looked at the whip- 
cord, exclaimed, — 

“How lucky this whip-cord has been to you, 
Ben!” 

“It is lucky, perhaps you mean, that he took 
care of it,” said Mr. Gresham. 

“Aye,” said Hal, “very true; he might well 
say, ‘Waste not, want not.’ It is a good thing 
to have two strings to one’s bow.” 


THE DISCONTENTED PENDULUM 

By Jane Taylor 

A N old clock, that had stood for fifty years in 
a farmer’s kitchen without giving its owner 
any cause of complaint, early one summer’s morn- 


“An old clock . . . suddenly stopped.” 

ing, before the family was stirring, suddenly 
5 T 



52 


The Discontented Pendulum 


stopped. Upon this the dial-plate (if we may 
credit the fable) changed countenance with alarm; 
the hands made an ineffectual effort to continue 
their course; the wheels remained motionless 
with surprise; the weights hung speechless; 
each member felt disposed to lay the blame on 



“The dial instituted a formal inquiry.” 


the others. At length the dial instituted a 
formal inquiry into the cause of the stagnation; 
when hands, wheels, weights, with one voice pro- 
tested their innocence. But now a faint tick was 
heard below, from the pendulum, who thus 
spoke : — 


The Discontented Pendulum 


53 


“I confess myself to be the sole cause of the 
present stoppage; and am willing, for the general 
satisfaction, to assign my reasons. The truth 
is, that I am tired of ticking.” Upon hearing 
this, the old clock became so enraged that it was 
on the point of striking. 

“Lazy wire!” exclaimed the dial-plate, holding 
up its hands. 

“Very good,” replied the Pendulum, “it is vastly 
easy for you, Mis- 

ll/A 


tress Dial, who 
have always, as 
everybody knows, 
set yourself up 
above me — it is 
vastly easy for you, 

I say, to accuse 
other people of 
laziness! You who 
have nothing to do 
all your life but to 
stare people in the 
face, and to amuse 
yourself with 
watching all that 
goes on in the kitchen! Think, I beseech you, 
how you would like to be shut up for life in this 
dark closet, and wag backwards and forwards 
year after year, as I do.” 

“As to that,” said the dial, “is there not a win- 



VHM'" 

‘I am tired of ticking.” 


54 The Discontented Pendulum 

dow in your house on purpose for you to look 
through?” 

“For all that,” resumed the pendulum, “it is 
very dark here; and although there is a window, 
I dare not stop, even for an instant, to look out. 
Besides, I am really weary of my way of life ; and, 
if you please, I’ll tell you how I took this disgust 
at my employment. This morning I happened 
to be calculating how many times I should have 
to tick in the course only of the next twenty-four 
hours; perhaps some of you, above there, can tell 
me the exact sum?” The minute-hand, being 
quick at figures, instantly replied, “Eighty-six 
thousand four hundred times.” 

“Exactly so,” replied the pendulum; “well, I 
appeal to you all if the thought of this was not 
enough to fatigue one? and when I began to 
multiply the strokes of one day by those of 
months and years, really it is no wonder if I 
felt discouraged at the prospect ; so, after a great 
deal of reasoning and hesitation, thinks I to my- 
self — ‘ I’ll stop!’” 

The dial could scarcely keep its countenance 
during this harangue; but resuming its gravity, 
thus replied: — 

“Dear Mr. Pendulum, I am really astonished 
that such a useful, industrious person as yourself 
should have been overcome by this sudden sug- 
gestion. It is true, you have done a great deal of 
work in your time. So have we all, and are likely 


The Discontented Pendulum 


55 


to do; and although this may fatigue us to think 
of, the question is, whether it will fatigue us to 
do; would you now do me the favor to give 
about half a dozen strokes, to illustrate mv argu- 
ment?” 



“The pendulum began to swing again.” 


The pendulum complied, and ticked six times 
at its usual pace. — “Now,” resumed the dial, 
“'‘may I be allowed to enquire if that exertion 
was at all fatiguing or disagreeable to you?” 

“Not in the least,” replied the pendulum; “it 


56 


The Discontented Pendulum 


is not of six strokes that I complain, nor of sixty, 
but of millions .” 

“Very good,” replied the dial; “but recollect 
that, although you may think of a million strokes 
in an instant, you are required to execute but one; 



His watch had gained half an hour.” 


and that, however often you may hereafter have 
to swing, a moment will always be given you to 
swing in. 

“That consideration staggers me, I confess,” 
said the pendulum. 


The Discontented Pendulum 57 

“Then I hope,” added the dial-plate, “we shall 
all immediately return to our duty; for the maids 
will lie in bed till noon if we stand idling thus.” 

Upon this the weights, who had never been 
accused of light conduct, used all their influence 
in urging him to proceed; when as with one con- 
sent, the wheels began to turn, the hands began 
to move, the pendulum began to wag, and, to its 
credit, ticked as loud as ever; while a beam of the 
rising sun, that streamed through a hole in the 
kitchen-shutter, shining full upon the dial-plate, 
it brightened up as if nothing had been the matter. 

When the farmer came down to breakfast, he 
declared, upon looking at the Clock, that his 
watch had gained half an hour in the night. 


ORDER AND DISORDER 

From “Evenings at Home,” by Mrs. Barbauld 


J ULIET was a clever, well-disposed girl, but 
apt to be heedless. 

She could learn her lessons very well, but com- 
monly as much time was taken up in getting her 



Order and Disorder 


59 

things together as in doing what she was set 
about. 

If she was at work, there was generally the 
housewife to seek in one place, and the thread- 
papers in another. The scissors were left in her 
pocket upstairs, and the thimble was rolling about 
the floor. In writing, the copybook was gener- 
ally missing, the ink dried up, and the pens, new 
and old, all tumbled about the cupboard. The 
slate and slate-pencil were never found together. 
In making her exercises, the English dictionary 
always came to hand instead of the French 
grammar; and when she was to read a chapter, 
she usually got hold of “Robinson Crusoe,” or 
the “World Displayed,” instead of the Testa- 
ment. 

Juliet’s mamma was almost tired of teaching her, 
so she sent her to make a visit to an old lady in 
the country, a very good woman, but rather strict 
with young folks. Here she was shut up in a room 
above stairs by herself after breakfast every day, 
till she had quite finished the tasks set her. 

This house was one of the very few that are 
still haunted by fairies. One of these, whose 
name was Disorder, took a pleasure in plaguing 
poor Juliet. She was a frightful figure to look 
?>t, being crooked and squint-eyed, with her hair 
hanging about her face, and her dress put on all 
awry, and full of rents and tatters. 

She prevailed on the old lady to let her set 


6o 


Order and Disorder 



Juliet her tasks; so one morning she came up 
with a workbag full of threads of silk of all sorts 


of colors, mixed and entangled together, and a 
flower very nicely worked to copy. It was a 
pansy, and the gradual melting of its hues into 






“My mistress has sent you a piece of work to do.” 


62 


Order and Disorder 


one another was imitated with great accuracy 
and beauty. “ Here, miss,” said she, “my mistress 
has sent you a piece of work to do, and she in- 
sists upon having it done before you come down 
to dinner. You will find all the materials in this 
bag.” 

Juliet took the flower and the bag, and turned 
out all the silks upon the table. She slowly 
pulled out a red and a purple, and a blue and 
a yellow, and at length fixed upon one to be- 
gin working with. After taking two or three 
stitches, and looking at her model, she found 
another shade was wanted. This was to be 
hunted out from the bunch, and a long while 
it took her to find it. It was soon necessary to 
change it for another. 

Juliet saw that, in going on at this rate, it 
would take days instead of hours to work the 
flower, so she laid down the needle and fell 
a-crying. After this had continued some time 
she was startled at the sound of something stamp- 
ing on the floor; and taking her handkerchief 
from her eyes, she spied a diminutive female fig- 
ure advancing toward her. She was upright as 
an arrow, and had not so much as a hair out of 
its place, or the least article of her dress rumpled 
or discomposed. 

When she came up to Juliet, “My dear,” said 
she, “I heard you crying, and knowing you to be 
a good girl in the main, I am come to your as- 



Order and Disorder 63 

sistance. My name is Order: your mamma is 
well acquainted with me, though this is the first 
time you ever saw me; but I hope we shall know 
one another better for the future.” 

She then jumped upon the table, and with a 
wand gave a tap upon the heap of entangled 


“Juliet laid down the needle and fell a-crying.” 

silk. Immediately the threads separated, and 
arranged themselves in a long row consisting of 
little skeins, in which all of the same color were 
collected together, those approaching nearest in 
shade being placed next each other. This done, 
she disappeared. 

Juliet, as soon as her surprise was over, re- 
sumed her work, and found it go on with ease 
and pleasure. She finished the flower by dinner- 



6 4 


Order and Disorder 


time, and obtained great praise for the neatness 
of the execution. 



“The threads separated and arranged themselves.” 

The next day the ill-natured fairy came up, 
with a great book under her arm. “This,” said 
she, “is my mistress’ house-book, and she says 


Order and Disorder 


65 



you must draw out against dinner an exact ac- 
count of what it has cost her last year in all the 


“Juliet finished the flower by dinner-time.’* 


articles of housekeeping, including clothes, rent, 
taxes, wages, and the like. You must state sep- 
arately the amount of every article, under the 



66 


Order and Disorder 


heads of baker, butcher, milliner, shoemaker, 
and so forth, taking special care not to miss a 
single thing entered down in the book. Here is 
a quire of paper and a parcel of pens.” So say- 
ing, with a malicious grin, she left her. 

Juliet turned pale at the very thought of the 
task she had to perform. She opened the great 
book, and saw all the pages closely written, but 
in the most confused manner possible. Here 
was, “Paid Mr. Crusty for a week’s bread and 
baking,” so much. Then, “Paid Mr. Pinchtoe for 
shoes,” so much. “Paid half a year’s rent,” so 
much. Then came a butcher’s bill, succeeded by 
a milliner’s, and that by a tallow-chandler’s. 

“What shall I do?” cried poor Juliet — where 
am I to begin, and how can I possibly pick out 
all these things? Was ever such a tedious, per- 
plexing task? Oh that my good little creature 
were here again with her wand!” 

She had but just uttered these words when the 
fairy Order stood before her. “Don’t be star- 
tled, my dear,” said she; “I knew your wish, and 
made haste to comply with it. Let me see your 
book.” 

She turned over a few leaves, and then cried, 
“I see my cross-grained sister has played you a 
trick. She has brought you the daybook instead 
of the ledger: but I will set the matter to rights 
instantly.” 

She vanished, and presently returned with an- 


Order and Disorder 


67 


other book, in which she showed Juliet every one 
of the articles required, standing at the. tops of 
the pages, and all the particulars entered under 



“You must state separately the amount of every article.” 


them from the daybook; so that there was noth- 
ing for her to do but cast up the sums, and 
copy out the heads with their amount in single 
lines. 


68 


Order and Disorder 


As Juliet was a ready accountant, she was not 
long in finishing the business, and at dinner pro- 



“ Where am I to begin?” 


duced her account neatly written on one sheet of 
paper. 

The next day Juliet’s tormentor brought her 


Order and Disorder 


69 


up a large box full of letters stamped upon small 
bits of ivory, capitals and common letters of all 
sorts, but jumbled together promiscuously as if 
they had been shaken in a bag. 

“Now, miss,” said she, “before you come down 
to dinner you must exactly copy out this poem in 
these ivory letters, placing them line by line on 
the floor of your room.” 

Juliet thought at first that this task would be 
pretty sport enough; but when she set about it 
she found such trouble in hunting out the letters 
she wanted, every one seeming to come to hand 
before the right one, that she proceeded very 
slowly; and the poem being a long one, it was 
plain that night would come before it was fin- 
ished. Sitting down and crying for her kind 
friend was, therefore, her only resource. 

Order was not far distant, for, indeed, she had 
been watching her proceedings all the while. She 
made herself visible, and giving a tap on the let- 
ters with her wand, they immediately arranged 
themselves alphabetically in little double heaps, 
the small in one, and the great in the other. After 
this operation Juliet’s task went on with such ex- 
pedition that she called up the old lady an hour 
before dinner to be witness to its completion. 

The good lady kissed her, and told her that as 
she hoped she was now made fully sensible of the 
benefits of order, and the inconveniences of dis- 
order, she would not confine her any longer to 


7o 


Order and Disorder 


work by herself at set tasks, but she should come 
and sit with her. 

Juliet took such pains to please her by doing 
everything with the greatest neatness and regu- 
larity, and reforming all her careless habits, that 
when she was sent back to her mother the follow- 



“You must exactly copy out this poem.” 


ing presents were made her, constantly to remind 
her of the beauty and advantage of order: — 

A cabinet of English coins, in which all the 
gold and silver money of the kings was arranged 
in the order of their reigns. 

A set of plaster casts of the Roman emperors. 


Order and Disorder 


71 

A cabinet of beautiful shells, displayed accord- 
ing to the most approved system. 

A very complete box of water-colors, and an- 
other of crayons, sorted in all the shades of the 
primary colors. 

And a very nice housewife, with all the imple- 
ments belonging to a seamstress, and a good 
store of the best needles in sizes. 



“The first thing he tried was the head of Voltaire.” 





THE PHILOSOPHER’S SCALES 


By Jane Taylor 



HAT were they? — you ask; you shall 


» * presently see: 

These scales were not made to weigh sugar and 
tea; 

O no; — for such properties wondrous had they, 
That qualities, feelings, and thoughts they could 
weigh; 

Together with articles small or immense, 

From mountains or planets, to atoms of sense: 
Nought was there so bulky, but there it could lay; 
And nought so ethereal but there it would stay; 
And nought so reluctant but in it must go; 

All which some examples more clearly will show. 

The first thing he tried was the head of Voltaire , 
Which retained all the wit that had ever been 
there; 

As a weight, he threw in a torn scrap of a leaf, 
Containing the prayer of the penitent thief; 
When the skull rose aloft with so sudden a spell, 
As to bound, like a ball, to the roof of the cell. 



Nl 


74 


The Philosopher’s Scales 



Next time he put in Alexander the Great , 

Alexander the Great: the Macedonian king who is said to have 
conquered all the known world and then wept because there were 
no more worlds to conquer. 


The' Philosopher’s Scales 


75 



With a garment that Dorcas had made — for a 
weight; 

Dorcas: a widow told of in Acts ix, 36: “full of good works 
and almsdeeds which she did.” 


7 6 


The Philosopher’s Scales 



“Next time he put in Alexander the Great." 


And tho’ clad in armor from sandals to crown, 
The hero rose up, and the garment went down. 
A long row of almshouses, amply endow’d 
By a well-esteem’d pharisee, busy and proud, 
Now loaded one scale, while the other was prest 


The Philosopher’s Scales 


77 



“A well-esteem’d pharisee.” 


By those mites the poor widow dropped into the 
chest; — 

Up flew the endowment, not weighing an ounce, 

L tf C 


78 The Philosopher’s Scales 

And down, down, the farthing’s worth came with 
a bounce. 

Again, he performed an experiment rare: 

A monk, w T ith austerities bleeding and bare, 
Climbed into his scale; in the other was laid 
The heart of our Howard , now partly decayed; 
When he found, with surprise, that the whole of 
his brother 

Weigh’d less, by some pounds, than this bit of 
the other. 

By farther experiments (no matter how), 

He found that ten chariots weighed less than one 
plough. 

A sword, with gilt trappings, rose up in the scale, 
Though balanced by only a ten-penny nail: 

A shield and a helmet, a buckler and spear, 
Weighed less than a widow’s uncrystallized tear. 

A lord and a lady went up at full sail, 

When a bee chanced to light on the opposite 
scale. 

Ten doctors, ten lawyers, two courtiers, one earl, 
Ten counsellor’s wigs, full of powder and curl, 
All heaped in one balance, and swinging from 
thence, 

austerities : harsh discipline. 

Howard: the philanthropist whose labors greatly improved 
the awful conditions under which people were imprisoned a cen- 
tury ago. 


The Philosopher’s Scales . 


79 



“The whole world was bowl’d in.” 


Weighed less than some atoms of candor and 
sense; — 

A first-water diamond, with brilliants begirt, 


8o 


The Philosopher’s Scales 



“It made a vast rent.” 


Than one good potato, just washed from the 
dirt; 

Yet, not mountains of silver and gold would 
suffice, 


The Philosopher’s Scales 81 

One pearl to outweigh — ’twas the “pearl of 
great price.” 

At last the whole world was bowl’d in at the 
grate; 

With the soul of a beggar to serve for a weight, 

When the former sprang up with so strong a 
rebuff, 

That it made a vast rent, and escaped at the roof; 

Whence, balanced in air, it ascended on high, 

And sailed up aloft, a balloon in the sky; 

While the scale, with the soul in, so mightily fell, 

That it jerk’d the philosopher out of his cell. 













NOTE 


The stories grouped together in this volume are among those 
written at the end of the eighteenth and the beginning of the 
nineteenth century which have continued to be favorites down to 
the present time and are treasured in the memory of the parents 
of many of us, and of the grandparents of nearly all. 

At the time they were written the young people of this country 
depended almost entirely upon English writers for their story 
books ; for men and women were too much occupied with the 
business of freeing America from English misgovernment and 
arranging their own more important public affairs to find time 
to write books for the little folk. 

So they reprinted the English books almost as fast as they 
appeared and had received any marks of popular approval in the 
country of their origin ; and for many years there were very few 
Americans who concerned themselves with writing books for the 
young. 

All of this is changed now, and American children are not 
only the happy inheritors of the best of the world’s literature, but 
the best brains of their countrymen and countrywomen are con- 
stantly employed in writing books for them. 

It is well, however, to keep these old-time stories alive: these 
pictures of the past are interesting and instructive ; their teaching, 
if sometimes insisted on too plainly for artistic effect, is always 
direct, simple and good, and their style, if sometimes a little 
stilted and didactic to modern ears, is a welcome relief from the 
jerky and ill-considered phraseology which characterizes some of 
the books which young people get hold of nowadays. 

In the course of her long and busy career, Maria Edgeworth 
wrote a great many stories for boys and girls. Among the most 
popular as well as the most characteristic is that entitled Waste 
Not, Want Not. She lived from 1767 to 1849, and her novels de- 
picting Irish life and character during the closing half of the 

83 


8 4 


Note 


eighteenth century have received high praise from many famous 
men and women. They are said to be more true to life than the 
rollicking, exaggerated, and amusing fiction of ’the Charles 
Lever school. 

She was a woman of remarkable vigor of character. She 
refused to marry the man she loved because she did not think it 
right to leave her friends, her parents, and her country. She had 
the courage to begin the study of the Spanish language when she 
was seventy years old. 

The story of Waste Not, Want Not is taken from a collection 
entitled The Parent’s Assistant. These tales were first of all 
written on a slate, and if they were approved by the very 
large family of which the author was a member, they were 
copied and added to the collection. A great deal of the work 
thus subjected to the test of the children’s criticism proved for 
a long time very popular. Maria Edgeworth was thus enabled 
to write from the child’s point of view, and in simple direct 
language suited to their comprehension. As compared with the 
characters in the books published during the fifty years preceding 
their advent, Maria Edgeworth’s were real children, and not mere 
lay figures named to represent them, or pegs upon which to hang 
appropriate moral and religious sentiments. Moreover, they were 
generally well-bred and reasonable children, who were early 
taught patience, self-control, and the necessity of bearing the con- 
sequences of their follies and mistakes — three important lessons 
which can never be without their effect in after-life. All of her 
stories contain some very strong and direct moral teaching, but it 
is rarely so obtruded as to rob the tale of its living human 
interest. 

The stories by Jane Taylor, The Discontented Pendulum, 
and The Philosopher’s Scales, are in very much the same vein 
and the same style. They were written at about the same period 
as Mrs. Edgeworth’s stories and appear in a volume entitled, 
The Contributions of Q. Q. The writer is best known as the 
author of Original Poems and Hymns for Infant Minds, some 
verses in which are among the best-known poems for young 
children. 


c. w. 


Heath’s Home and School Classics. 

Large Type. Good Paper. Many Illustrations. Durable Binding. 


Aiken and Barbauld’s Eyes and No Eyes, and Other Stories. (M. V. O’Shea.) Paper, 

10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

Ayrton’s Child Life in Japan. (W. Elliot Griffis.) Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

Brown’s Rab and His Friends and Stories of Our Dogs. (T. M. Balliet.) Paper, 10 
cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

Browne’s The Wonderful Chair and the Tales it Told. (M. V. O’Shea.) Two parts. 

Paper, each part, 10 cents ; cloth, two parts bound in one, 30 cents. 

Craik’s So Fat and Mew Mew. (Lucy Wheelock.) Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

Crib and Fly: A Tale of Two Terriers. (C. F. Dole.) Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

Defoe’S Robinson Crusoe. (Edward Everett Hale.) Four parts. Paper, each part, 15 
cents ; cloth, four parts in one, 50 cents. 

Edgeworth’S Waste Not, Want Not, and Other Stories. (M. V. O’Shea.) Paper, 10 
cents; cloth, 2ocents. 

Ewing’s Jackanapes. (W. P. Trent.) Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

Ewing’s The story Of a Short Life. (T. M. Balliet.) Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 
Goody Two Shoes, attributed to Goldsmith. (C. Welsh.) Paper, 10 cents; cloth, 20 cents. 

Gulliver’s Travels. I. A Voyage to Lilliput. II. A Voyage to Brobdingnag. (T. M. 
Balliet.) Paper, each part, 15 cents ; cloth, two parts bound in one, 30 cents. 

Hamerton’s Chapters on Animals: Dogs, Cats and Horses. (W. P. Trent.) Paper, 15 
cents ; cloth, 25 cents. 

Ingelow’s Three Fairy stories. (C. F. Dole.) Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

Irving’s DolphHeyliger. (G. H. Browne.) Paper, 15 cents; cloth, 25 cents. 

Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare. (E, S. Phel-^ Ward.) Three parts. Paper, each 
part, 15 cents ; cloth, three parts boundji: one, .. » cents. 

Lamb’S The Adventures of Ulysses. (W. r. Trent.) Paper, 15 cents; doth, 25 cents. 

Martineau’S The Crofton Boys. (W. Elliot Griffis.) Two parts. Paper, each part, xo 
cents ; cloth, two parts bound in one, 30 cents. 

Mother Goose. (C. Welsh.) In two parts. Paper, each part, 10 cents; cloth, two parts 
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Motley’s The Siege Of Leyden. (W. Elliot Griffis.) Paper, 10 cents; cloth, 20 cents. 

Muloch’s The Little Lame Prince. (E. S. Phelps Ward.) Two parts. Paper, each 
part, 10 cents ; cloth, two parts bound in one, 30 cents. 

Ruskin’s The King of the Golden River. (M. V. O’Shea.) Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 
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Segur’s The story of a Donkey. (C. F. Dole.) Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 
Shakespeare’s Comedy of Errors. (Sarah W. Hiestand.) Paper, 15 cents ; cloth, 25 cents. 
Shakespeare’s The Tempest. (Sarah W. Hiestand.) Paper, 15 cents; cloth, 25 cents. 
Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale. (Sarah W. Hiestand.) Paper, 15 cents; cloth, 23 
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Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. (Sarah W. Hiestand.) Paper, 15 cents; 
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Six Nursery Classics. (M. V. O’Shea.) Paper, 10 certs ; cloth, 20 cents. 

Tales from the Travels of Baron Munchausen. (Edward Everett Hale.) Paper, xo 

cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

Thackeray’S The Rose and the Ring. (Edward Everett Hale.) Paper, 15 cents ; cloth, 
25 cents. 

Trimmer’s The History of the Robins. (Edward Everett Hale.) Paper, 10 cents; 
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See also our list 0/ books for Supplementary Reading. 


D. C. HEATH & CO., Publishers, Boston, New York, Chicago 


Heath’s Home and School Classics. 


FOR GRADES I AND IL 

Mother Goose : A Book of Nursery Rhymes, arranged by C. Welsh. In two parts. Hhi* 
trated by Clara E. Atwood. Paper, each part, io cents ; cloth, two parts bound in one, 
30 cents. 

Craik’s So Fat and Mew Mew. Introduction by Lucy M. Wbeelock. Illustrated by 
C. M. Howard. Paper, xo cents; cloth, 20 cents. 

Six Nursery Classics: The House That Jack Built; Mother Hubbard; Cock Robin; 
The Old Woman and Her Pig; Dame Wiggins of Lee, and the Three Bears. Edited 
by M. V. O'Shea. Illustrated by Ernest Fosbery. Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

FOR GRADES II AND III. 

Crib and Fly ; A Tale of Two Terriers. Edited by Charles F. Dole. Illustrated by 
Gwendoline Sandham. Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

Goody Two Shoes. Attributed to Oliver Goldsmith. Edited by Charles Welsh. With 
twenty-eight illustrations after the wood-cuts in the original edition of 1765. Paper, 
10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

Segur’s Tbe Story of a Donkey. Translated by C. Welsh. Edited by Charles F. Dole. 
Illustrated by E. H. Saunders. Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

FOR GRADES III AND IV. 

Trimmer’s The History of the Robins. Edited by Edward Everett Hale. Illustrated 

by C. M. Howard. Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

Aiken and Barbauld’s Eyes and No Eyes, and Other Stories. Edited by M. V. O’Shea. 
Illustrated by H. P. Barnes and C. M. Howard. Paper, xo cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

Edgeworth’S Waste Not, Want Not, and Other Stories. Edited bv M. V. O'Shea, 
Illustrated by W. P. Bodwell. Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

Ruskin’s The King of the Golden River. Edited by M. V. O’Shea. Illustrated by 

Sears Gallagher. Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

Browne’S The Wonderful Chair and The Tales It Told. Edited by M. V. O’Shea. 
Illustrated by Clara E. Atwood after Mrs. Seymour Lucas. In two parts. Paper, each 
part, 10 cents ; cloth, two parts bound in one, 30 cents. 

FOR GRADES IV AND V. 

Thackeray’s The Rose and the Ring. A Fairy Tale. Edited by Edward Everett Hale. 

Illustrations by Thackeray. Paper, 15 cents ; cloth, 25 cents. 

Ingelow’S Three Fairy stories. Edited by Charles F. Dole. Illustrated by E. Ripley. 
Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

Ayrton’s Child Life in Japan and Japanese Child Stories. Edited by William Elliot 
Griffis. Illustrated by Japanese Artists. Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

Ewing’s Jackanapes. Edited by W. P. Trent. Illustrated by Josephine Bruce. Paper, 
10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

ttuloch’s The Little Lame Prince. Preface by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward. Illus- 
trated by Miss E. B. Barry. In two parts. Paper, each part, ic cents; cloth, two para 
bound in one, 30 cents. 


(OVBR.) 


Heath's Home and School Classics — Continued . 


FOR GRADES V AND VI. 

Lamb’s The Adventures Of Ulysses. Edited by W. P. Trent Illustrations after Flax- 
man. Paper, 15 cents; cloth, 25 cents. 

Gulliver’s Travels. I. A Voyage to Lilliput. II. A Voyage to Brobdingnag. Edited 
by T. M. Balliet. Fully illustrated. In two parts. Paper, each part, 15 cents; cloth, 
two parts bound in one, 30 cents. 

Ewing’S The Story of a Short Life. Edited by T. M. Balliet. Illustrated by A. F. 
Schmitt. Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

Tales From the Travels of Baron Munchausen. Edited by Edward Everett Hale. Illus- 
trated by H, P. Barnes after Dore. Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

Defoe’S Robinson Crusoe. Edited by Edward Everett Hale. Illustrated. In four 
parts. Paper, each part, 15 cents ; cloth, four parts bound in one, 50 cents. 

FOR GRADES VI AND VII. . 

Lamb’s Tales From Shakespeare. Introduction by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward. 
Illustrated by Homer W. Colby after Pill£. In three parts. Paper, each part, 15 
cents ; cloth, three parts bound in one, 40 cents. 

Martineau’s The Crofton Boys. Edited by William Elliot Griffis. Illustrated by A. F. 
Schmitt. In two parts. Paper, each part, 10 cents ; cloth, two parts bound in one, 30 
cents. 

Motley’S The Siege Of Leyden. Edited by William Elliot Griffis. With nineteen illus- 
trations from old Dutch prints and photographs, and a map. Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 
cents. 

Brown’s Rab and His Friends and Stories of Our Dogs. Edited by T. M. Balliet. 
Illustrated by David L. Munroe after Sir Noel Paton, Mrs. Blackburn, George Hardy, 
and Lumb Stocks. Paper, 10 cents ; cloth, 20 cents. 

FOR GRADES VII, VIII AND IX. 

Hamerton’s Chapters on Animals: Dogs, Cats and Horses. Edited by W. P. Trent. 
Illustrated after Sir E. Landseer, Sir John Millais, Rosa Bonheur, E. Van Muyden, 
Veyrassat, J. L. Gerome, K. Bodmer, etc. Paper, 15 cents ; cloth, 25 cents. 

Irving’S Dolph Heyliger. Edited by G. H. Browne. Illustrated by H. P. Barnes. 
Paper, 15 cents ; cloth, 25 cents. 

Shakespeare’s The Tempest. Edited by Sarah W. Hiestand. Illustrations after Retzch 
and the Chandos portrait. Paper, 15 cents ; cloth, 25 cents. 

Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Edited by Sarah W. Hiestand. Illus- 
trations after Smirke and the Droeshout portrait. Paper, 15 cents ; cloth, 25 cents. 

Shakespeare’s The Comedy Of Errors. Edited by Sarah W. Hiestand. Illustrations 
after Smirke, Creswick, Leslie and the Jansen portrait. Paper, 15 cents; cloth, 25 
cents. 

Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale. Edited by Sarah W. Hiestand. Illustrations after 
Leslie, Wheatley, Wright, and the bust in Westminster Abbey. Paper, 15 cents ; cloth, 
25 cents. 

Other numbers in preparation. Full descriptive circular sent free upon request. 

See also our list of books upon Supplementary Reading. 

D. C. HEATH & CO., Publishers, Boston, New York, Chicago 


REVISED AND ILLUSTRATED 


The Heart of Oak Books 

A Collection of Traditional Rhymes and Stories for 
Children, and of Masterpieces of Poetry and Prose 
for Use at Home and at School, chosen with special 
reference to the cultivation of the imagination and 
the development of a taste for good reading. 

EDITED BY 

CHARLES ELIOT NORTON 


Book I. Rhymes, Jingles and Fables. For first reader classes. Illustrated 
by Frank T. Merrill. 128 pages. 25 cents. 

Book II. Fables and Nursery Tales. For second reader classes. Illustrated 
by Frank T. Merrill. 176 pages. 35 cents. 

Book III. Fairy Tales, Ballads and Poems. For third reader classes. With 
illustrations after George Cruikshank and Sir John Tenniel. 184 
pages. 40 cents. 

Book IV. Fairy Stories and Classic Tales of Adventure. For fourth reader 
grades. With illustrations after J. M. W. Turner, Richard Doyle, 
John Flaxman, and E. Burne-Jones. 248 pages. 45 cents. 

Book V. Masterpieces of Literature. For fifth reader grades. With illustra- 
tions after G. F. Watts, Sir John Tenniel, Fred Barnard, W. C. 
Stanfield, Ernest Fosbery, and from photographs. 318 pages. 
50 cents. 

Book VI. Masterpieces of Literature. With illustrations after Horace Vernet, 
A. Symington, J. Wells, Mrs. E. B. Thompson, and from photo- 
graphs. 376 pages. 55 cents. 

Book VII. Masterpieces of Literature. With illustrations after J. M. W. Tur- 
ner, E. Dayes, Sir George Beaumont, and from photographs. 382 
pages. 60 cents. 


D. C. HEATH & CO., Publishers 


BOSTON 


NEW YORK 


CHICAGO 


LONDON 








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